


Breakout

by jemdetta



Category: Foo Fighters
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Hunters, M/M, Supernatural Elements, not crack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-09-21 21:01:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17050496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jemdetta/pseuds/jemdetta
Summary: “Okay, just so I’m clear,” Mitch said, feeling reality slip away from him a little. “Are you guys really and truly telling me that Dave Grohl is a...a fuckingwerewolf?”“You ever seen ‘Teen Wolf’?” Taylor said. “It’s like that, but with more hair.”





	Breakout

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sailorhathor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sailorhathor/gifts).



> _Dear Sailorhathor, I loved all your prompts and had difficulty picking just one. Thank you for your amazing prompts and happy Yuletide!_

There were some people who called Mitch the best fixer in Los Angeles, and he’d be hard-pressed to correct them. He had been in the business for some thirty-odd years, plying his trade solely via word of mouth from his satisfied A-list clients. Of course, no one ever came right out and admitted to using his services, but every year Mitch never failed to receive Christmas cards from the likes of Brad Pitt and LeBron James. One memorable birthday, Mitch had come home to discover a gleaming black Porsche in his driveway, courtesy of Taylor Swift. Just some enjoyable perks of the job, but that wasn’t why Mitch was in this line of work. No, he did this because he had a knack for problem-solving, and he loved doing it for rich and visible people who wanted their problems to go away.

So when his phone started ringing while he was stuck in traffic on the 405, he barely thought twice about answering the unfamiliar number on the caller-ID. “Mitch Hellermann.”

“Um, hey.” The voice was unfamiliar too, but Mitch was used to it. “It’s uh, John Silva here. I was given your number by Drake’s manager.”

Mitch frowned, quickly flipping through his mental rolodex. Silva Artist Management was in charge of several artistes, so Mitch tried to remember who was touring at the moment. It had to be about either Beck or the Foo Fighters. “How can I help you, John?”

“I kinda have a situation up here in the Bay Area,” John said a little hesitantly. “It’s a-- I need you to understand it’s a _very_ delicate situation.”

“Delicate situations are my bread and butter, my man,” Mitch said with a laugh. “What’s it about?”

John cleared his throat here. “I’d rather talk in person. When’s the earliest you can get to San Fran?”

Mitch quickly googled the latest flight times on his iPad, inching forward with the traffic when the car behind honked at him. _Jesus, some people_. “I can be there in three hours, tops,” he said, texting his staff to book the earliest possible flight.

“Great, great.” John sounded relieved. “I’ll send a car to pick you up at SFO, we’re at the Four Seasons.”

“Cool,” Mitch said. “By the way, you know my rates, right?” 

“Yeah, yeah, of course,” John said distractedly, as though money wasn’t the issue. It seldom was, with ‘delicate situations’. “The money will be in your account by the end of this whole...thing.”

“Speaking of which--” Mitch began, but John had already hung up.

***

San Francisco was always much colder than L.A., a fact Mitch was reminded of when he stepped out of the airport and felt the bite of the October chill. Shrugging on his leather jacket, Mitch managed to locate his driver, who looked like a kid from the record label instead of a uniformed chauffeur from the hotel. The kid was quiet throughout the whole drive to the city, nervously checking his phone at every stop light. Mitch spent the drive trawling through Google News, TMZ and his usual sources for any mention of either Beck or the Foos, but nothing untoward caught his eye. Glancing out of the car window, Mitch spotted the Golden Gate Bridge in the distance, half of it swallowed in the white fog that had suddenly rolled into the bay. 

They arrived at the Four Seasons soon enough, the kid’s obvious anxiety ramping up when they spotted the scattered group of journalists and photographers hanging around in the lobby. “Please follow me, Mr. Hellermann,” he muttered, doing his best to tuck his record label lanyard out of sight and steer clear of the press.

Mitch followed in quiet amusement, eyeing the disgruntled journalists who were milling about and seemingly complaining about a sign that had been put up outside the ballroom: ‘FOO FIGHTERS PRESS CONFERENCE CANCELLED DUE TO UNFORESEEN CIRCUMSTANCES’. 

Ah, Mitch at least knew which client he was dealing with now. He managed to google all six band members’ names while the kid led him through the hotel lobby, but nothing jumped out at him.

A skinny, dark-haired man was pacing outside the elevators, relief flooding his face when he spotted Mitch. “Mr. Hellermann?”

“Just call me Mitch.” They shook hands quickly before John jabbed at the elevator buttons. “Hope I got here quickly enough?”

“Trust me, I’m grateful you’re here.” John just gave him a tight smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, turning to talk to the kid who nodded and made himself scarce. At this point, Mitch noticed that the right sleeve on John’s shirt was torn, ramping up his curiosity even more.

A man and woman stepped into the elevator with Mitch and John, so they rode up in silence until the couple got off at the 24th floor. Tapping an access card and pressing the ‘P’ button, John sighed in relief. “I take it that by now, you’ve figured out who your client is.”

“It’s something to do with Dave Grohl.” It was a statement and not a question, so Mitch was completely unsurprised when John nodded wearily. Mitch wouldn’t be the best in the business if he wasn’t good with educated guesses.

“It’s just--” John ran a hand shakily through his hair. “I’ve been in this business a long time, y’know? And I’ve never--”

They were interrupted by a loud ‘ding!’ as the elevator doors slid open and John fell silent. Mitch stepped out directly into the Four Seasons’ plush and luxurious penthouse suite, raising an eyebrow at how dim the place was although it was already noon. All the curtains had been drawn, leaving the penthouse drenched in the sickly yellow light of the hotel lamps. A nearby armchair had been ripped open, lying next to a bowl of fruit that was knocked over. On the coffee table, there was a dog-eared copy of ‘Dreams From My Father’, autographed personally by Obama. It was next to a stained coffee mug labeled ‘World’s Best Dad’. Not hotel stuff, but something that had obviously been brought from home with care.

“Maybe it’s best if you just...see him, for yourself.” John sounded defeated, gesturing for Mitch to follow him to one of the suite’s bedrooms. Mitch did so, curiouser and curiouser.

John tapped softly on the door, swinging it open and greeting someone inside. The first thing that hit Mitch was the smell: a combination of sweat, musk and a weird tinge of...wet dog? It reminded Mitch of his locker room in high school, if someone had turned the smell up to eleven and let in a couple of golden retrievers.

“Guys, this is Mitch from L.A.,” John said by way of introduction. “Mitch, you know the guys, right?”

“Sure do.” Although Mitch’s personal preferences ran towards classic ‘70s and ‘80s rock, he made a note of memorizing every single member of every major band in the charts today. On the sofa, a visibly worried Nate Mendel and Chris Shiflett were speaking in hushed tones, while the band’s newest member, Rami Jaffee, was pacing near the windows. An unusually subdued and unsmiling Pat Smear was curled up on an armchair, staring hopefully at Mitch as though he held the solution to their problem. 

Well, most probably he did.

Edging further into the room, Mitch finally discovered the source of that gym-room smell. A bare-chested Dave Grohl was completely passed out on the four-poster bed, his sweaty hair plastered to his cheek. He wore a pained grimace, even when unconscious, his fists clenched as though he was fighting something. Lying beside him was Taylor Hawkins, his body curved towards Dave’s like a question mark. He sat up defensively when he spotted Mitch, bracing an arm over Dave’s chest. “Who the fuck’s this?” he asked John accusingly.

“Calm down, okay? He's the fixer from L.A. that I told you guys about,” John said.

Taylor still didn’t seem convinced, narrowing his eyes at Mitch. However, Pat spoke up: “The one who helped Josh? Josh Homme?”

Mitch nodded as he set down his messenger bag. “Yup, that’s me. So, someone fill me in. What happened to Dave?”

The band instantly exchanged wary glances, before everyone’s heads suddenly swivelled towards Taylor. “Seriously?” he huffed, glaring at his bandmates.

“Hey, you’re the one in bed with him,” Rami pointed out. Everyone else nodded in agreement.

“Ugh, you’re all assholes.” Shaking his head, Taylor covered Dave up tenderly with a sheet before shimmying gracefully out of bed and running a hand through his mussed blonde hair. Now that Mitch was getting a closer look at him, Taylor looked like he hadn’t slept in days. 

“Okay, look.” Taylor fixed Mitch with a hard stare. “I’m only telling you this because our manager trusts you and-- we really need to help Dave, okay?”

“Sure.” Mitch kept his expression as impassive and non-threatening as possible. After a long, tense silence and more prodding from Pat, Taylor finally began to speak:

“About three years ago, Dave met a group of fans at a bar in Paris. Well, at least he thought they were fans. They went from bar to bar, had a great time. One ‘fan’ was-- one of the guys bit him.” Grimacing at this point, Taylor took a deep breath and continued. “Ever since then, we’ve had...the Problem.”

“What problem?” Mitch’s mind was already buzzing with possibilities. Was it a contagious disease? A stalker?

Taylor just rubbed his face. “Um, Dave is a-- fuck, I’m going to sound nuts--”

“He’s a fuckin’ werewolf,” Chris blurted out. His expression was so distressed that Mitch was too stunned to laugh. Plus, no one else was laughing. Everyone was staring anxiously at Mitch.

Thirty years of hiding marital affairs, paternity tests, STDs and tax evasion could not have prepared Mitch for this. When he finally found his voice, he said, “You guys aren’t fucking with me, right?”

The anger on Taylor’s face was what convinced Mitch that they believed they weren’t lying. “Hey, fuck you, asshole. You think we want this to happen?”

“Hey, calm down,” John said. “Don’t upset Dave.”

Nate heaved a deep sigh. “If you’ve noticed, over the last three years we’ve never had a concert during a full moon,” he told Mitch.

Mitch made a mental note to have one of his staff go through the past data. “For now I’m going to take your word on that.”

Nate just shrugged, while Chris folded his arms across his chest. “So are you going to help us or not?”

“Okay, just so I’m clear,” Mitch said, feeling reality slip away from him a little. “Are you guys really and truly telling me that Dave Grohl is a….a fucking _werewolf_?”

“You ever seen ‘Teen Wolf’?” Taylor said. “It’s like that, but with more hair.”

***

John said the fixer guy was here to help, so that was the only reason Taylor wasn’t tearing his head off and kicking him out of the suite. Taylor wasn’t usually a violent kinda guy, but when it came to Dave, all bets were off.

To be fair, Mitch the fixer was taking it a lot better than most people. Sure, he’d asked if anyone had any whiskey, so Rami had poured the guy two fingers of J.D. which he’d knocked back in one swift move. He still seemed deep in thought, so Taylor went back over to the bed to check on Dave. At least he wasn’t sweating as much now, the wound on his arm seemingly healed in mere hours. Taylor brushed back Dave’s hair away from his face, wiping away the sheen of sweat with a corner of the top sheet.

Everyone looked up when Mitch said, “I need to make some calls.”

“I’m sure your staff are professional and, uh, discreet,” John said hesitantly. “But I’m really going to need you to keep a lid on this one, okay? It’s best if it’s just you. One more person, max.”

Mitch actually looked offended. “Of course we’re discreet. But look, this is a unique situation that I’ve never dealt with before. You have to give me some time to figure it out.”

“Yeah, of course,” Shifty said, rubbing the back of his neck. “But we don’t have much time until those guys come back.”

Mitch looked up from his phone. “What guys?”

“The ones who attacked Dave this morning,” Pat said sullenly. It was so strange to see him so glum and defeated when he usually had a smile for every situation.

John glanced over at Taylor. “Tell him the details, T. Since you were with Dave at the time.”

Taylor shifted uncomfortably in bed, tucking his legs under him. “We were up real early this morning for a change. Dave wanted to head out for a coffee and just, y’know, walk around. We were a few blocks from the Mission when these two guys in leather jackets came up to us. We thought they were just, like, fans. Regular fans, y’know?”

Mitch was tapping away furiously on his phone. “What did they do?”

The memory of it was still all too fresh in Taylor’s mind, and he sat on his hands so that they wouldn’t shake. “They knew what Dave was. Said they were hunters, something like that. One of them had, like, a really old-timey type gun. The other had a weird-ass knife with a really long blade. He cut Dave’s arm with it, and Dave’s skin, like, hissed? Dave was screaming like it burned him or something.”

“Maybe it was a silver blade,” Shifty said, brow creased in worry. “I mean, we’re not versed in werewolf lore or shit like that, so--”

“You guys called the cops?” Mitch was so calm and business-like that it helped to settle Taylor’s nerves a little.

“Course not, what if it got out what Dave’s a fuckin’ werewolf?” Taylor reached for one of Dave’s hands, loosening his fist so he could twine their fingers together. None of this escaped the sharp-eyed Mitch, who said nothing.

“Good thing Taylor was there.” Nate rubbed his face with a sigh. “He managed to fight the guys off and get Dave back to the hotel.”

Mitch turned to Taylor with a raised eyebrow. “You did? By yourself?”

Taylor shrugged, staring down at the white sheets. “All of us got training in some form of self-defense,” he muttered. “In case, y’know, Dave ever needed our help.”

“What about his wife?” Mitch asked. “Does she know anything? Can she help with this?”

Taylor’s voice was softer than usual. “I called Jordyn about what happened this morning. She was going to pick up the kids and fly over immediately, but...Dave changed.”

“Changed?” Mitch repeated.

“You know.” Rami bared his teeth and turned his hands into claws. “‘Changed’.”

“It was early, the full moon isn’t due for a couple of days,” John said. “So we think that the attack must have triggered Dave’s wolf form to come out of hiding a little early, or something. We know Dave wouldn’t want his kids to see him in his wolf form, so we told Jordyn we’ll get him back home ASAP.”

“Can’t we get Dave to a hospital or something?” Pat pleaded. “I can’t just sit here--”

“We talked about this,” Nate reminded him. “What if Dave changes while he’s warded? Besides, T says his wound has almost healed.”

“But we can’t just do nothing--” Shifty burst out, before everyone started voicing their objections as well, the band all arguing loudly and making Dave stir in bed.

“Hey guys, come on!” John hissed. “Don’t wake Dave up. Mitch, I’m praying you have a couple of ideas.”

“Yeah, I have a few.” Mitch glanced at all of them. “But first of all, I need to know if tonight’s concert has been cancelled?”

“Not yet,” John said. “We were waiting for you to get here before I called the promoter.”

“Okay, good. Don’t cancel,” Mitch instructed them. “We’re going ahead with the concert as planned.”

“Are you fucking crazy?” Taylor snapped. “What about Dave?”

“You yourself said he’s almost healed.” Mitch didn’t even look fazed at Taylor’s outburst. “Plus, you guys can’t cancel this late. No one’s gonna buy that Dave can’t perform tonight because he’s sick. This motherfucker performed with a broken leg on stage. See how weird it’ll look if you just cancel for any reasons of illness?”

“We could say it was a family emergency,” Shifty said doubtfully.

“True,” Mitch said. “But if you want to catch those hunter guys, the concert has to continue as planned. Because afterwards is when they’ll most likely strike.”

Taylor was shocked. “We’re not going to put Dave out there as-- as fuckin’ bait!”

Mitch held out a hand placatingly. “Which is why I’ve had my guys double the security for tonight. After the concert, I have an...idea, but I need you guys to all be on board.” His gaze came to rest on Taylor. “You guys on board? For Dave’s sake?”

Taylor stared down at Dave’s fingers, intertwined with his. Did he really have a choice?

***

As the newest addition to the band, there were things that Rami was still finding out about the rest of the guys on a daily basis. Which was cool, because as a session musician, Rami was used to collaborating with a revolving door of musicians and having to work around everyone’s quirks and idiosyncrasies. He’d overcome his star-struckness with Dave pretty quick - after all, Rami had worn out his _Nevermind_ cassette due to repeated listens - but just as he’d pegged Dave as a regular guy, he’d discovered something not-so-regular about the guy he’d idolised for the longest time.

This had occurred during Rami’s first year as an official member of the band, and he’d dropped into 606 on one of their designated off days, which for some reason always fell in the middle of the month. He’d just meant to work on a couple of samples, thinking that no one else was at the studio. So when he had opened the door to the recording room and spotted the large, snarling black wolfman hunkered near the drum set, he’d screamed the loudest he’d ever screamed in his life.

“Whoa, whoa!” Taylor had come running in a blond flurry, holding his hands out to calm Rami. “Dude, chill! It’s just Dave!”

“What the actual fuck!” Rami had picked up his beloved Korg, wildly swinging it around and ready to use it as a battering ram. 

“Yeah, I swear, man.” Then Taylor had told him the whole sordid story, the black wolfman staring at them with solemn eyes the whole time.

So Rami had been entrusted with the band’s biggest secret (along with that not-so-secret thing between Dave and Taylor that their wives were apparently cool with, so Rami didn’t quite give a shit about that). Instead he’d read up on werewolves and werewolf lore, ignoring all the Twilight shit and avoiding Dave during the full moon. However, it seemed like the rest of the band had it under control, especially Taylor who was _always_ on hand whenever Dave was going through his ‘changes’.

Now Rami was more used to the idea, but he didn’t know how to react to the idea that someone wanted to kill Dave, and for the first time the band had to seek outside help for this. This Mitch guy seemed like he knew when to keep his mouth shut and he got his work done pretty fast. About two hours before the concert at the Oakland Coliseum, Mitch announced that he and his team had found the identities of the two hunters, distributing their details to security and the band’s staff. 

They went on stage a little later than normal, but Dave was the ultimate showman as always, riling up the crowd and encouraging the fans to dance and sing along to their anthems. Rami couldn’t help noticing that the rest of the band seemed uneasy and nervous, particularly Taylor who kept scanning the crowd despite the increased security presence. Even Pat could barely muster a smile for the screaming fans. But it was Dave who admittedly carried the whole show, ending with a rousing singalong of ‘Everlong’ that Rami was sure could be heard for miles.

After the concert, Dave was whisked backstage immediately, Taylor in hot pursuit. The rest of the band headed down to the green room, passing around beers while mopping off the sweat with towels. “What the fuck do we do now?” Shifty blurted out, once the crew had left. 

“We wait, I guess.” Nate didn’t seem too happy about this either. “I mean, Taylor’s with Dave. So is John, plus that Mitch guy and his team of security guys.”

“Yeah I wouldn’t worry too much,” Rami said in an attempt to ease the tension. “Did you see those guys? Jesus Christ, they’re all built like linebackers.”

“Still? I don’t want to just sit here with our thumbs up our asses,” Shifty said unhappily. “I just--”

A gunshot rang out backstage, and the guys stared at each other in shock for a moment before they scrambled to their feet and ran out the door.

***

When Dave came to, he found himself sprawled on a white hospital bed, an IV poked into his arm. The back of his head hurt like a bitch, throbbing like crazy. Groaning as he tried to sit up, he settled for turning over so he could make sense of his surroundings. The first person he laid eyes on was the one he was looking for, so he huffed out a sigh of relief at the sight of Taylor curled up in the hospital chair next to his bed, head drooped in an uneasy sleep. Dave couldn’t quite blame him; Taylor hadn’t been sleeping well for days, and it was all Dave’s fault.

However, Dave jumped when he spotted the unfamiliar tall, red-haired man sitting on a chair at the other end of the room, glancing down at his phone which was plugged into the wall outlet and charging. The man looked like the drug dealers Dave had spotted hanging around Seattle in the 90s, except that he looked a lot more respectable in his leather jacket and pressed jeans. “Hey, I’m Mitch,” the man said by way of introduction, giving Dave a small wave. “Since I have to charge my phone, I thought I’d stick around and say hi before I went back to L.A.”

Dave frowned at him. “Sorry, who are you?”

“John called me in this morning, to help with a situation.” Mitch nodded meaningfully at Dave’s arm, which surprisingly still bore a scar. Dave always healed without a scar these days, ever since the Change. He froze suddenly when he realized that Mitch knew-- shit, he fucking knew, was he part of those guys who'd tried to kill Dave--

“Hey, hey.” Taylor’s familiar voice was in his ear, soothing Dave as his hackles rose. “I’m here, you’re safe. I promised, didn’t I?’

Dave was shocked at how much he was trembling. “Those guys, the hunters--”

“They were arrested when they tried to kill you after tonight’s concert,” Taylor said, before shooting Mitch a grateful smile. “Before they could fire, one of Mitch’s security guys took them out with a shot to the shoulder.”

Dave blinked. It was all slowly coming back to him. “Then...my head?”

“You looked like you were going to shift,” Taylor said apologetically. “I tried to knock you out before you could change, but--”

“He couldn’t bring himself to hurt you, so I did.” Mitch shrugged. “What can I say? I picked up some tips from a few famous clients who may or may not be boxers.”

Dave frowned at both of them. "Wait, so that's why I'm here? And those hunter guys are gone?"

Mitch shrugged. "It's my job to fix problems. So I fixed your problem. Not your major one, of course--"

"You mean I'm still a fucking werewolf." Dave knew he shouldn't be snapping at the guy, but he hated that he was the cause of misery for his family, his bandmates and especially Taylor.

"Well, we're looking into that for now. We'll let you know if a solution comes up." Mitch held out his hand to Dave. "I'm going to take my leave now, Dave. I've arranged for your family to fly over and see you in the morning. Will you be okay till then?"

Dave slowly reached out and shook Mitch's hand, before glancing over at Taylor beside him, who was smiling at Dave and wiping his eyes. Through the glass windows, Dave could see his tired bandmates hovering outside, waiting impatiently for the nurses to let them into the ward. "Yeah, yeah I think so. I got my other family here."

Mitch's smile broadened. "Your secret's safe with me. Take care, Dave."


End file.
